


The Unbearable Husbands

by Foodfightonthemoon



Series: Crowley and Aziraphale's Village Adventures [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Comedy, Conspiracy Theories, Crack, F/F, M/M, Parody, Village life, angel and a demon just can't catch a break, crack ship, very occasional cussing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-09-28 03:07:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20418893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foodfightonthemoon/pseuds/Foodfightonthemoon
Summary: Part 2 in the continued adventures of Crowley and Aziraphale in their village of North Mundham. The ineffable pair have a brilliant idea of setting up an angel and a demon - except it's not a brilliant idea at all.





	1. To Love One's Enemy

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation from 'Gourd Omens' and I would strongly recommend reading that first.
> 
> But if you don't want to I can't stop you, really. Do what you like, you cheeky son of a gun!

_ The present day, 8:47pm _

Only a few months had past since hell’s last interference with the village of North Mundham before there was another unexpected knock in the middle of the evening. The disgruntled fist pounded on the door of East Gate Cottage. It’s door opened a sliver, and then swung inwards fully, revealing the robed demon behind it.

‘Hi neighbour.’ Crowley smirked at Doris Savage over his tea. ‘Come to borrow a cup of sugar?’

‘Anthony,’ she nodded disdainfully, ‘this is a dire situation indeed. An _ unholy _ force is once again at work in our village.’ 

Doris waited expectantly to be urged to continue with her very worrying and exciting news. Crowley took a loud and prolonged sip of his tea. He lowered his cup and made a satisfied ‘Ahh’. Doris made to speak again and he quickly began another prolonged and gurgling sip.

‘Is your husband in?’ Doris said over the gurgling as she tried to peak around the door frame ‘I’m sure he would be quicker on the uptake of these things.’

Although the neighbourly relations between Mrs Savage and her supernatural neighbours had been vastly improved since the events of the last Mundham & District Gala & Flower Show, sustaining any sort of goodwill between a reformed demon and a Savage was proving very difficult. Their most recent discrepancy involved an overhanging tree, and a misunderstanding of who would be the one to pay the tree surgeon.

‘Ah Mrs Savage!’ Aziraphale appeared, still in his normal day attire. ‘Come in out of the cold. Crowley, do put the kettle on, won't you my dear boy?’

Crowley gaped and spluttered before sulking off to the kitchen, muttering something about betrayal as he went.

‘My dear Mrs Savage, to what do we owe the pleasure?’ Said the angel as he helped his neighbour to the chair next to his.

‘Oh, please, call me Doris.’ She patted his knee affectionately ‘I am afraid I come today with grave news. The Horse has been burnt to a crisp - with _ fire from the deepest hell. _Oh, three sugars in mine if you please, Anthony’

Crowley scoffed in outrage to be asked to further tend to the tea he had just plonked down on the table.

‘Oh and would you mind fetching us the madeleines from the pantry?’ The angel added.

In brimming fury, the demon shovelled three spoonfuls of sugar into one of the cups, before stomping into the other room.

‘Ahem, as I was saying,’ Doris began again, ‘_ fires from the deepest hell. _ Not a soul could put it out even _ slightly _ , until the pub was completely burnt to cinders. After that, _ whoosh’ _ Doris waved her hands ‘the fire was _ gone. _’

‘When you say the Horse, you mean the drinking establishment in the village: _ The Horse and other Horses _?’

‘That’s the one! A pinnacle of our community!’

‘I wasn’t aware you ever frequented it’

‘God, no, full of all sorts of riff raff. Wouldn’t go if you forced me. But you can’t deny it, can you,’ Doris leant forward conspiratorially ‘the _ hellish interference. _As the guardian angels of the village - you must feel it.’

‘Oho well, one can’t be too sure’ Aziraphale still had mixed feelings about his and Crowley's new role that Doris had apparently enforced on them.

‘Well surely God has told you, even if you can’t feel it?’

‘Ah well, God works in very mysterious ways, you see…’

‘And that’s not _ all’ _ she said as Crowley came back, practically slammed the packet of madeleines on the table, and threw himself across the sofa, ‘I saw them - _ the demons. _ At least I’m sure they were. A tall man and a short bald one, definitely not from around here. I saw them skulking around by the canal not half an hour before it happened this very evening!’

Crowley sat up straight and Aziraphale shot him a look of total panic. Doris, pleased that her story had finally had the desired effect, took a satisfied swig of tea. The swig turned into several choking gulps as Crowley seized the cup and began forcing the tea down Mrs Savage’s throat. 

‘Thanks for stopping by Mrs Savage. Such a shame you have to go so soon I’m sure we’ll see you at the All Hallows’ Day Service.’ Crowley led a gargling Mrs Savage to the front door. ‘Bye’ he said as he slammed it shut. As an afterthought he picked up a handful madeleines, opened the door, chucked them at a dazed Mrs Savage, and slammed it shut once more.

‘Crowley!’ Aziraphale chided, unsure whether he was more displeased about the treatment of Mrs Savage or the treatment of his madeleines. ‘That was so rude! And since when were _ you _going to the All Hallows’ Day Service?’ 

‘What? Oh, of course I’m not, who cares! You see what’s happening, don’t you?’

‘Yes of _ course _I do!’

‘And you know that this is _ entirely our fault.’ _

‘Oh Lord,’ Aziraphale put his head in his hands ‘what have we done.’

*******

_ Several weeks previously _

Aziraphale sat in the second row of pews, listening to Reverend Acres speak. In his 2000 years of experience of Christianity there was hardly a sermon he hadn’t heard - yet Reverend Acres had on a few occasions surprised him with the profundity of even the simplest of messages. So for the first time in a few decades he had become a regular part of a church congregation. Crowley naturally stayed at home and often made something nice for Sunday lunch - seeing as Aziraphale was no longer allowed in the kitchen.

‘And the greatest of these is _ love’ _ the Reverend ended her reading from Corinthians. ‘As Paul said it _ never fails. _ God _ is _love and it is love that turns Paul from his murderous rampage into the very pillar of the early church.’

Aziraphale remembered Paul’s murderous rampage against the early Christians quite well, but hadn’t met him after his conversion. 

‘Love is _miraculous_. We are called to love our enemies because love changes us and them. I would challenge you today to ask - who are your enemies?’ Several heads turned towards Doris. She could almost be seen muttering under her breath _Anthony_ _Crowley_ like a prayer. ‘Identify who they are, and find ways this week of introducing love into their life. And watch to see what happens next!’

_ I wonder, _ the angel thought to himself, _ whether now this might actually work… _

*******

‘Crowley!’ The angel burst into the house in feverous zeal. ‘I have just been an absolutely wonderful morning service and I have had an aaaaaaa-‘ Aziraphale was well and truly thrown off his train of thought by the vision of Crowley carrying a tray of yorkshire puddings.

‘Go wash your hands’

‘I’m not a child, Crowley’ The angel said as he washed his hands very quickly and hurried to the table.

‘With _ soap, _ angel. _ ’ _ Aziraphale sighed and went once again to the kitchen sink.

‘As I was saying,’ said the angel as he sat at the table and heaped four yorkshire puddings onto his plate with the rest of his roast dinner.

‘Grace, angel?’ Crowley folded his hands, his face deadpan beneath his glasses. Aziraphale put down his knife and fork.

‘You are mocking me and I do not appreciate it.’ He met the demon’s stare and pouted. Crowley put his hands together.

‘Hello Lord, it is I, Crowley. I do apologise for this heathen, but he is one of yours, so he should know better. Rubba dub dub, thanks for the grub.’ And he began to eat. Azirapahale muttered something about falling twice and tucked into his Sunday roast.

‘Dee Ememny!’ Aziraphale remembered his idea only once he had a large roast potato in his mouth. He swallowed is too hastily and had to gulp down some of his glass of white wine. ‘_ Loving your enemy!’ _ He eventually gasped.

Crowley put down his wine glass.

‘Really angel, after all these years this is the teaching of Christ that has finally sunk in? We are literally living in the same house. I cooked you lunch. We stopped Armageddon _ twice _ (sort of). You got us matching robes! I thought we were on the same page here? _ Our own side now - _ remember? How dense are you that only _ now-’ _

‘Not YOU, you silly sod of a serpent, _ no! _ I’m talking about OUR enemies _ now _! Love - it changes things.’

Crowley took off his glasses, folded them and put them on the table.

‘Excuse me’ he said ‘are you suggesting we try and befriend the very ones who tried to _ literally _ kill us a couple of months ago?’

‘Well, I mean, not exactly -’

‘Who, if it weren’t for the fact that you tried to cut a pumpkin with a _ butter knife _ instead of a real knife, would have _ actually succeeded in killing us.’ _

‘It must be considered that we were all right in the _ end _.’

‘What, you’re suggesting that if we get Beelzebub a box of Dairy Milk chocolates, they’re gonna suddenly agree to play squash with us?’

‘Obviously not!’

‘Oh well, why don’t we send Gabriel a decorative gourd for his cabinet, he’ll love that!’

‘We don’t have any! You shot them!’

‘You’re being absolutely ridiculous, angel!’

‘_ You’re _being ridiculous!’

‘No!’ Crowley stood up and picked up the tray of yorkshire puddings ‘You are being _ the most ridiculous.’ _

‘What are you doing with those!’ Azirapahale stood and tried to stop the demon as he took away the soft and golden savoury puddings into the kitchen. ‘_ Listen wont you! _ I’m not suggesting that _ we _attempt to befriend the enemy - only that perhaps if the enemy was in a position like ours… well… perhaps they would be more sympathetic towards our cause.’ 

The demon stopped in front of the bin. 

‘A position like ours?’ He asked.

‘Yes, like ours. I mean of course in the way that we once were: where we had a friend on the opposite side.’

Crowley, much to Aziraphale’s relief, put the tray on the side. He turned and sighed.

‘That’s a nice thought angel, I just don’t think it’s gonna happen. The others aren’t like me - well, not really. They enjoy all this stuff. Like _ really _enjoy being evil. And you, you’re not like the other angels.’

‘We have had our disagreements, but I’m sure that when it comes down to it -’

‘- There is absolutely no way a demon would ever even think to befriend and angel, or vice versa. And who! And how! What shall I do just stride up to Hastur and…’ Crowley was suddenly lost in thought. He stared at the ground. Aziraphale took this opportunity to sneak two more Yorkshire puddings into his waistcoat pockets. He jumped as Crowley suddenly began to laugh. It was a dirty laugh that was usually reserved for things that were not only hilarious, but also rather evil. It was not Aziraphale’s favourite laugh.

‘You know, angel, you are right. If we set this thing up correctly - I do think we can make an angel and a demon be friends.’

‘Oh really?’ Aziraphale took a worried bite of another yorkshire ‘Wiff ones?’

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'The Horse and Other Horses' is a pub name shamelessly stolen from a John Finnemore sketch.


	2. The Arrangement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angel and a demon unexpectedly come to an arrangement at a certain bandstand

_ The very next week after Aziraphale’s amazing idea _

‘They aren’t coming.’ Sighed Aziraphale as he looked at his pocket watch for the fiftieth time. ‘It was a fun idea. I did enjoy the espionage aspect, and it was quite nice to hide in this park with you.’

‘It’s going to get even more fun once the fireworks start, angel’ Crowley laughed as he held up the binoculars. From their position, in a bush, they could clearly see the bandstand - the set rendezvous point. Crowley had deviously rigged up a hidden microphone so they could also hear everything that was being said.

‘_ Fireworks. _ ’ Aziraphale exclaimed ‘Do you mean for them to _ fight? _Crowley, that was not the plan!’

‘Oh come off it, angel, of course they’re going to fight! They are an angel and a demon who have both mysteriously heard through the grapevine a time and place to meet up to discuss business, they aren’t going to start braiding each others _ hair _.’

Aziraphale folded his arms.

‘Sandalphon doesn’t have hair to braid. Nonetheless, I thought you were on board with _ my plan.’ _

‘Ah yes, the ineffable power of love to change mortal enemies into friends. Dream on angel - that doesn’t happen in the real world.’

Aziraphale was extraordinarily quiet and angry. Crowley grunted.

‘Ok it happened _ once.’ _He said.

Aziraphale sighed and checked his watch once more. 

‘Shall we call it a day? Crowley? What are those?’

‘Squashies’ Crowley replied as he passed over the packet.

‘It feels so strange to be here at the bandstand.’ The angel sighed. ‘These are delicious though, we should get these again! They are so… I don’t know how to describe it…’

‘Squashy?’ Crowley offered.

‘Rather!’

CRACK! The sky flashed and there to the right of the bandstand stood a short balding gentleman. He sniffed the air in disdain.

To the left of the bandstand the ground crumbled, and from it rose a tall ghostly looking man with inhumanly dark eyes. He hurriedly dusted off the soil from his lapels.

Both men looked at each other before warily stepping up to the platform. Neither stepped onto it, but stayed on their respective sides.

‘Hastur, Duke of Hell’ the bald man nodded to the other.

‘Archangel Sandalphon’ Hastur gave what might have been called a slight bow.

‘I heard through my sources that I might find you here.’

Hastur looked confused.

‘I heard it through people talking about it that you might be here.’ He said ‘Sauces don’t speak to me.’

Ten meters away, and angel and a demon sat in a bush, giggling.

‘It is very dangerous for an angel and demon to have any sort of contact nowadays,’ Sandalphon said ‘lest people get the wrong idea. Lest people compare them to - _ the traitors’ _

_ ‘Crowley,’ _ Hastur growled ‘and his best friend _ Aziraphale’ _

‘Exactly’

‘_ I hate them’ _ Hastur said. Sandalphon gave a strange sort of grunty giggle.

‘Hnnhnnhnn. I am an angel and I do not hate. I love and only want what is best for them.’ Sandalphon cocked his head thoughtfully ‘And really what is best for them is to be dead.’

Hastur tipped his head back and let out an outrageous cackle. It carried on for far too long. Sandalphon, although trying to appear holy and inscrutable in the face of the enemy, was clearly very pleased with himself. Hastur eventually composed himself, and gushing said:

‘Sandelphon, you are an angel and I obviously hate you. I just wanted to say, your work in Sodom and Gomorrah, all the killing people - making them salt - it was amazing. We are on different sides, and you are disgusting and one day you will be defeated by hell in glorious battle, but that was very funny. Very good!’

‘Well,’ Sandelphon said, ‘I suppose I’m an angel worth my salt.’

Hastur stood in confusion for a good few seconds before erupting into a second round of unstoppable laughter.

‘SALT!’ Hastur yelled between fits as he then began uncontrollably coughing. When he was finally done, he looked up to see that Sandalphon had stepped onto the platform. He was smiling down at him with a strange expression. It was sort of like a smile, but definitely with a hint of malice, certainly with ulterior motives, a little disgust and a whole lot of cunning. Hastur liked it a lot. He stepped up to the platform.

‘We are enemies’ the angel said ‘but perhaps, on this occasion, we could come to some arrangement.’

‘An arrangement of what?’

‘I mean, we work together to get revenge on a common enemy. What do you think?’

‘_ The traitors?’ _

_ ‘Exactly.’ _

The angel held out his hand. The demon hesitated. He quickly checked the hand for concealed holy water, before timidly taking it. He eased into it, smiling and rigorously shaking the hand. When they let go Sandalphon surreptitiously wiped his hand on his trouser leg with a grimace.

‘I’ll be in touch. I have the number to your office.’ and with a CRACK the angel was gone.

‘Sandal...phone you later….’ a dazed Hester stared at the place that the angel had disappeared from. He cackled once more.

‘Bye bye Crowley! I have an angel helping _ me _now.’ He continued laughing as he sunk back into the ground. The park was quiet and normal once more, as if a supernatural pact between heaven and hell had never even taken place there.

In the bush, Crowley and Aziraphale sat in silence for many minutes.

‘This,’ Crowley eventually pointed at the bandstand, ‘was the stupidest idea we have ever had.’


	3. The Usual Suspects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scene of the crime. The ineffable detectives try and confirm what sort of monsters would burn down the village pub!

_ The present day, around 9:30 pm _

‘He is not going to listen to me - he thinks I’m part of the system or something’ the Reverend Rachel Acres pushed her wife towards their son’s door. 

‘I’m rubbish at this sort of thing!’ she hissed back ‘What makes you think he’s going to listen to  _ me?’ _

‘You are the plain talking voice of wrath and reason.’

‘Aw  _ what! _ I hate that!’ They came to a stop in front of the door. Stuck on with blue tack was a piece of paper that had  **Do Not Enter ** scrawled in red marker. The reverend took a deep intake of breath, nodded, stuck two thumbs up at her wife, and then went downstairs to watch tv. Helen sighed and knocked at the door. There was no answer. She carefully let herself in.

The room was a bombsite. Books lay strewn about the place, bits of lined paper sticking out of them - marking pages. Photocopies, photographs and print-offs of old newspaper archives were stuck to the wall and they were all connected by pinned bits of string. All traces of Mike’s football posters, school certificates and glow in the dark stars were entirely smothered by the paper trail of a conspiracy theorist on the edge.

‘Jesus Christ’ whispered Helen, who only blasphemed when her wife wasn’t about. She awkwardly sat by the boy sized lump on the bed. ‘Hey kid’ she said ‘we’re getting a bit worried about you, just because you’ve been spending all your time up here. I mean it’s cool, you’ve obviously been busy - doing whatever it is you’ve been doing.’ She picked up one of the nearest books:  _ Guide to the Occult and Mysticism.  _ ‘Right, maybe best keep this one away from your vicar mother. We were just wondering what’s going on - really - what it is you’re working on. I know it’s difficult when your mum’s in the church - my dad was and I remember it wasn’t the most fun. We just want you to talk to us, especially after what happened in the Gala. But we aren’t, you know, going to be angry or anything if... is that  _ Anthony Crowley? _ ’ 

Helen was absolutely distracted by a newspaper clipping on the wall. It was dated 1990, it was a piece about the art at Houghton Hall, and in a picture of a proud posh man showing off a painting of a dead duck. Another figure with dark glasses was circled in the background. Helen laughed at how grumpy he looked as he was snapped candidly striding across the lawns of Houghton Hall.

‘He hasn’t aged a  _ day.’  _ She said ‘This is brilliant, I’m definitely going to show him. Where did you get this? Oh look there he is again! Ah no that’s one from 1947, that can’t be him. Looks a lot like him, I reckon he’d find that one funny - it’s a good hat. Mate, and you found an Aziraphale lookalike too!’ she tapped a print of a renaissance painting ‘You know he’s posh enough for that to actually be a relative, I reckon. You are really good at this, I don’t know why you didn’t show us sooner. Have you found any ones that look like me? Hmm.’ She carefully scanned the wall. It was just Anthony and Aziraphale lookalikes. 

Helen clicked her tongue against her teeth. It was super-parenting time. 

‘Look, Mike,’ she said ‘I know our family isn’t the most normal, I guess. Especially around a place like this. But it’s ok if you feel like you would like, you know, a male role model in your life. In fact I’m sure that both of those guys really like you and would love to spend time with you - if that’s what you’d like. We could hang out with them anytime, I know Aziraphale has been trying to plan something with us for ages. You don’t have to hide it from us, we aren’t gonna be upset or anything. We just want you to talk to us. Mike?’

She peeled back the bed covers to reveal the pillows perfectly positioned as a boy-sized body double.

‘Oh what!’ Helen threw of the covers to reveal the rest of the pillows, and a few soft toys. ‘Absolute classic! I’ve been had! Ha! I’m so old now, how did I fall for  _ that.’  _ Her smile faded as she noticed the string of jumpers tied to the base of the bed leading out of the open window.

‘Ah shit.’ She said ‘RACHEL!!!!’

*******

‘Crowley you damn near hit that badger!’

‘Urgh. Maybe I was trying to, did you think of that, angel?’

‘You’ve missed the turning!’

‘No I haven’t.’

‘Yes you  _ have,  _ you stupid man! You’re halfway to Chichester now!’ came a voice from the back of the car.

‘Mrs Savage!? What the devil are you doing here?’ 

‘Helping!  _ Obviousl-OOFF’  _ Mrs Savage was flung to one side as the car performed a particularly violent U-turn.

‘Sorry.’ Crowley called back, smiling. 

A few minutes later the vintage Bentley side skidded to a halt in front of the smoldering ruin where once sat ‘The Horse and other Horses’. Most onlookers had dissipated by this point. The press had gone home and all that was left was a lone police officer still taking statements from one or two civilians.

‘Ah, not too close please gentlemen, and lady.’ Said the officer as the angel, the demon, and difficult neighbour got out of the car.

‘Constable Whiddet, they sent you did they? Good to know nothing is going to get solved any time soon then.’ Doris scoffed and stepped forward to survey the smoldering wreckage.

‘Good evening to you too Mrs Savage, if you wouldn’t mind staying  _ back  _ from the police tape so I won't have to press any charges on your good self. This is a  _ scene of ongoing investigation,  _ not your  _ evening BBC drama,  _ Mrs Savage.’

‘The  _ cheek! _ ’ She retorted.

‘There is nothing to see here Mrs Savage. I’m afraid it’s looking like a very unfortunate, but not at all suspicious case. We’ve nearly finished up here.’

********

‘9:55, Entities Snake-hips and Posh-man arrive with Wrinkles. Still no sign of Frog-Face or Baldy since 7:30’ Mike whispered into his phone recording app. He saw he had five missed calls from home. He would deal with that later - for the moment he had bigger fish to fry. It was up to him to expose the truth about what  _ really  _ was happening in North Mundham. And maybe, in doing so, be able to clear his own name.

********

‘I’ll tell you once, I’ll tell you again, Doris. It seems like a cut and dry electrical failure coupled with highly flammable alcohol soaked surfaces. I never thought you would even care about a place like this? I can’t imagine it being your kind of pub?’ Constable Whiddet scratched his head.

‘You don’t understand.’ said Doris, suddenly on the verge of tears ‘ _ My husband goes to this pub.’ _

‘Oh!’ Said the Constable, his tone softened, ‘No one was harmed, Doris, your husband must be somewhere else. No casualties here. He is probably at home sipping tea.’

‘That is  _ precisely the problem!’  _ She yelled  _ ‘That is my house where I live! _ I don’t want  _ John  _ moping around the place! Whoever burnt this place down is a certified  _ monster!’ _

‘No-one was in, you say?’ asked Aziraphale ‘On a Friday evening? Not even the regulars?’

‘Narp’ said Mr Mucklow, who had recently finished giving his statement. He was looking glumly into the cinders, empty pint glass still in hand. ‘We’d all gone outside because Bill had seen a fox fighting a pigeon.’ He choked and began to cry. ‘It was really funny, but what’s the point, the ‘orse is gone forever’. He chucked his glass into the ashes and fell to his knees, openly weeping. 

‘There, there.’ said Aziraphale, ‘There’s always the Walnut Tree, on the other side of the village. I heard it's also very nice. '

Mr Mucklow looked at him as if he had just suggested that he strip his clothes off and dance naked through the Rogers’ fields.

‘Fire’s definitely a Hastur thing’ Crowley whispered to Aziraphale, as he scanned the fields and bushes around for signs of movement.

‘And Sandalphon would need to get paperwork for human smiting work, which would explain the miraculous occurrence of  _ no casualties.’ _

‘Hey, police human! You haven’t seen a bald short guy and a particularly smelly tall trench coat man about have you?’

Inside a nearby bush, Mike gasped and hissed into his phone, perhaps a little too excitedly: 

‘ _ Confirmed! Snake-hips confirms prior knowledge of Frog-Face and Baldy!  _ AHHH!’ he screamed as he was lifted and dragged out of the bush by his wrist.

‘Oi, Vicar’s boy?’ Crowley held aloft the dangling boy by his arm. ‘Where are your mums?’

Mike wiggled around wildly.

‘Un-hand-me-servant-of- _ Satan’  _ he yelled as he struggled.

Crowley raised his eyebrows and then dropped him back in the bush. Mike was dazed for a few seconds before darting towards the road. Constable Whiddet lunged and caught him on the way.

‘Woah there Mr Acres, what are you doing out?’

‘I was just walking around, is that  _ illegal?’ _ Mike yelled

‘I swear, if this is anything to do with you, kid, after that Flower Show-’

‘That wasn’t  _ my fault!’ _

‘Yes yes, we remember, overcome by the powers of hell. We do have your statement.’

The Constable suddenly felt incredibly tired. The presence of Mike Acres alone would be enough to prolong this cut and dry investigation more than it needed to be. After the events of the Gala, everything to do with the boy was automatically suspicious. 

‘We’ll take him back’ offered Aziraphale ‘It’s no trouble, it’s on the way for us.’

But then again, thought the Constable, who at the station  _ really _ needs to know that the boy was even here?

The Constable was thankful and gave the vicar a quick call to confirm that was alright, before making his way back to his police car.

The other four began to climb into the Bentley.

‘Hurry up won't you, I want my bed.’ Fussed Mrs Savage.

‘Don’t  _ touch me!’  _ Mike shouted as Aziraphale went to help him with his seatbelt. The angel froze in shock.

‘You had better watch yourself  _ boy _ .’ Crowley growled.

‘No really, Crowley, it’s quite alright.’ Aziraphale said softly as he climbed into the shotgun seat.

Mike leaned forward.

_ ‘You  _ are the ones who should watch yourselves.’ He hissed, ‘ _ I know what you are!’  _ and he folded his arms and leant back into his seat, staring furiously at his driver in the rear view mirror.

*********

Two figures stood in the field. They watched as the headlights disappeared into the lane and out of site.

‘I told you they would come.’ Said the shorter.

‘Yes and they did, like moths to a flame,’ said the taller ‘even though nobody died…’ he seemed wistful.

‘And now the traitors have revealed it to us clear as day’

‘Revealed what?’

‘Our  _ target.’ _

The taller gazed at the other, black eyes brimming with awe and appreciation. They both began to quietly giggle. It grew louder and louder. The angel and the demon’s cackle rang into the night above the smoldering ruins of the village pub.


	4. Das Leben der Engelen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The heavenly host have their biweekly meeting, but Sandalphon isn't there...

‘Alright, can we start yet?’ Gabriel sat at the head of the board room table for the biweekly task force report.

‘Sandalphon still isn’t here.’ Said Micheal.

‘He’s on call today, I think we had better start without him.’ Uriel flicked lazily through last meetings minutes.

‘Alright, let’s skip straight to the point. Where are we at with the traitors, Surveillance?’ A jumpy angel near the other end of the table, who was not called Surveillance, fidgeted with a well padded file.

‘Ahem, the angel Aziraphale and demon Crowley are still stationed in East Gate Cottage, North Mundham, West Sussex, Chichester, England, Latitude 50.81138-’

‘Skip the fluff, Surveillance, some of us have other things to do.’ Gabriel scoffed and a few angels tittered with him.

‘Uh, oh, yes. Since the failed attempts of Hell from earlier this year, neither targets seem to have engaged in any heavenly or hellish activity. General day to day activities of late include cooking, gardening, shopping, trips to national trust sites, church activities, reading, watching daytime television, holding hands in public -’

‘Good Lord!’ Exclaimed Gabriel ‘Spare us those kind of details  _ please,  _ Surveillance!’ He made some fake retching noises and laughed. The other angels giggled at his wit.

‘Th-they also occasionally take food into the middle of a nearby field, sit on the ground and eat it.’ The surveillance angel folded the sheet they were reading from back into the file, and slipped a thinner file from underneath it.

‘Gross! Sometimes you wish the plans of hell worked better, so we wouldn’t have to cope with  _ that  _ sort of mental image!’ Gabriel smirked and leant back in his chair. ‘Moving on then -’ he pointed at the next angel along, who was preemptively laying out diagrams of her exciting new battle strategy.

‘Wait!’ The surveillance angel held aloft the smaller file. ‘I have something else which I think you should know about!’

‘I swear, Surveillance,’ Gabriel leant forward with a dangerous smile, ‘if that is another picture of the traitors  _ kissing _ or  _ hugging  _ or  _ fixing each other’s hair,  _ I will not be happy.’

The angel slipped out a photograph and passed it, face down, to Gabriel. He snatched it up with a bemused glance and froze as he saw what it was.

‘Ok, meeting over.’ He said ‘Micheal, Uriel, Surveillance, you stay. Everyone else out.’

The battle strategy angel angrily piled up her papers and kicked the surveillance angel’s chair as they filed out of the room.

Gabriel, Uriel and Micheal stood and sat down again on the other side of the table from the surveillance angel. Gabriel placed the photograph inbetween them, face up.

The Archangel exhaled and pulled a stretched, pained sort of smile. He squinted at the shaking angel across the table.

‘Would you like to tell me  _ exactly  _ what is happening in this picture.’ He said. The angel looked confused; the image was rather self explanatory.

‘Well it’s Archangel Sandalphon… sh-shaking hands with a Duke of Hell.’ The angel pointed to the very clear image. 

‘And what  _ on earth _ were  _ you _ doing performing surveillance on Archangel Sandalphon?’ Micheal raised their eyebrows and a chill ran down the entirety of the surveillance angel’s spine.

‘He - I wasn’t!’ The angel squeaked. ‘I was tracking the angel Aziraphale and demon Crowley to this park, and then I momentarily lost them in some bushes. One can only speculate what they might have been doing in there, I’m afraid-’

‘Ah ah ah ah!’ Gabriel made a shushing gesture with his hand. ‘Your mistake, Surveillance, was doing more than you were asked to do. Not only that, but you come in here -’ and at this he put his hand on his chest with pained expression ‘- with the actual intent to  _ accuse _ an  _ archangel _ of  _ highest treachery. _ ’

At this the angel lost all power of coherent speech.

‘Butt datt demon doe!’ They poked desperately at the picture with their forefinger.

‘What an  _ archangel  _ does is entirely out of your pay grade to know about.  _ Do you understand?’  _ The angel nodded at Gabriel’s words, red face staring at the desk. ‘What you’ve done in taking pictures, and snooping about, and drawing silly conclusions, could have damn near compromised a very delicate operation. Do you understand?’

The angel nodded profusely. Gabriel waved his hand.

‘Get outta here!’

The angel hastily gathered their surveillance files to leave. As they reached for Sandelphons’ picture, Uriel’s hand slammed on top of it.

‘GO!’ she shouted.

The surveillance angel stumbled hastily out of the room, close to tears.

After they were gone, the three left sat in silence.

Uriel lifted her hand and looked down at the photograph. 

‘Was this a good idea?’ sighed Uriel, as she worriedly traced Sandalphon’s smiling face. The others looked at each other in alarm.

‘Uriel! I never imagined you to be of such little faith!’ Gabriel exclaimed. Uriel looked sheepish.

‘Sandalphon is one of the highest and holiest, there is nothing to worry about - he is entirely safe.’ said Micheal.

‘Ah but what if he, I mean, like the traitor Aziraphale -’

The other two made sounds of absolute indignation.

‘Do not even  _ compare  _ Sandalphon to that so called angel, ok?’ Gabriel scoffed ‘ _ That  _ angel, I don’t think, even needed to be  _ tempted _ by hell.’

‘He was falling to begin with.’ Micheal nodded.

‘Sandalphon is merely  _ using  _ hell’s powers for the greater good.’ Gabriel said as Uriel nodded sadly in agreement. ‘Look,’ said Gabriel and he took Uriel’s shoulders, ‘remember, as the Mighty One always says: when you’re feeling sad - simply remember your favourite things... and then you won't feel so bad!’ He laughed and clapped her round the back. 

As they filed out of the boardroom, Uriel slipped the picture into her jacket pocket. There were not many good pictures of Sandalphon of which she had seen, and none of them had him smiling - let alone  _ that  _ smile….

  
Her  _ favourite  _ smile.


	5. The Inadequate Babysitters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are 6000 years old, they have raised countless children between them. How hard can one night looking after the vicar’s son be?

‘Aziraphale!’

‘Oh hullo vicar! And Mike, dear boy, how are you? Oh, mind yourself!’ Mike pushed past Aziraphale into the cottage, with hardly a backwards glance, and hastened into the living room.

_ ‘Mike _! I’m so sorry, Aziraphale.’ Said Reverend Acres.

‘Not a problem at all.’ He turned to call into the living room. ‘Do make yourself at home, master Acres!’ He heard a worrying clatter.

‘Thank you again _ so much _ for this. I’m off to my leaders conference now but Helen will be back from London and able to pick up Mike tomorrow morning for school.’ She leaned in and whispered ‘And you know Mike really does look up to you both so much, so I’m _ so _ grateful you’ve agreed to spend some quality time with him. I can’t think of better role models.’ She smiled.

It was at this moment that Aziraphale realised that he didn’t know where Crowley actually was, and whether he was doing something a good role model might do. This made him very anxious. 

‘Oh, just so you know, he’s only allowed one hour of television, but homework needs to be done _ first _ . Half an hour of reading before lights out, no phones after eight and absolutely _ no _ power tools. See you soon! Bye Aziraphale, bye Mike!’

‘Tah tah, safe travels!’ Aziraphale closed the door. There was something else bothering him. He had forgotten to do something. Close the fridge? The bins, perhaps? Had he mentioned to Crowley that they were to be babysitting Mike today?

‘GYAH!!! _ Hsssssss!!! _’ Came a sound from the other room.

He had not.

He ran into the living room to see Crowley squatting on top of the sofa while Mike lunged around with a silver sword.

‘How old are you!’ Mike squealed as he jabbed the blade around.

‘What are you doing in my _ house!’ _Crowley managed to avoid the sword by jumping onto the cabinet.

‘TELL ME HOW OLD YOU ARE!’ He pierced an embroidered cushion and flung it into the air. 

‘No!’ Aziraphale held out his hands in despair as the white goose feather down floated around the room. ‘I liked that one!’ 

‘I know _ what you are!’ _

_ ‘What am I then.’ _Crowley leered.

Mike pointed the quivering blade at Crowley’s chest.

‘A _ vampire.’ _He said.

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up and a strange smile appeared on his face. Mike steadied his sword.

‘Yeah’ Crowley said ‘_ I am.’ _

_ ‘I knew it!’ _ Said the boy

‘Yes, very very clever of you. What a shame, such a shame.’ Crowley cocked his head and flicked his tongue. It almost looked like his teeth had grown longer and pointier. ‘We can’t have you running about the village telling everyone what I am. Good thing that right now I’m feeling _ peckish!’ _

Crowley made a sudden movement, the light flicked off, and Mike immediately dropped the sword in terror. With a hysterical scream he ran straight into the wall and knocked himself out.

Aziraphale flicked the light back on.

‘We. Are. _ Babysitting _!’ He yelled.

‘Oooohh.’ Crowley climbed down from the cabinet and looked at the unconscious boy. ‘Whoops?’

***************

‘But _ why _are we doing this? Aren’t we trying to keep a low profile now that we’ve got both our old colleagues after us?’ came a hushed voice over the sound of the crackling hearth.

‘We _ are. _I agreed to babysit as a precaution.’

Mike, once his brain recognised where he was, kept his eyes closed and lay as still as he could.

‘A _ precaution!’ _

_ ‘Yes’ _

‘It’s not a precaution to invite an already-possesed-by-hell-once child into our_ house.’ _

There was a pause and Mike couldn’t see what was happening. He strained his ears and tried to peak between his eyelashes. A big blanket masked most of his view but he heard the rustle of paper and saw something being passed in front of the glow of the fire.

‘What’s this?’ 

‘A “friend on the other side.” My _ old _ side, that is to say.’

‘You know them?’

‘No. They aren’t generally the sort that you know - but rather the sort who know _ you _.’

‘Are we being _ watched, _angel?’

‘It would seem so.’

‘And why is the message in _ german?’ _

‘I think it’s supposed to be a rather clever reference to an obscure film.’

‘Pretentious git. What’s an _ Opferung?’ _

‘A _ sacrifice _, apparently chosen on the very night the “Horse and other Horses” was burned down.’

‘Sacrifice for _ what? _ What, wait, and you think the _ boy _ is…’

In the silence that followed, Mike microscopically opened his eyes and peered round the heavy blanket until he could see Crowley’s face. Almost as soon as he set eyes on him, Crowley spoke.

‘He’s awake.’ He said.

‘Ah!’ Aziraphale put the book down. ‘You didn’t half give us a fright master Acres! Now it’s not too late for a spot of supper for you before you get to bed. What _ would _ your mothers say if they’d known you’d knocked yourself out running into a wall like that - goodness.’

Mike scrambled up, throwing the blanket onto the floor and desperately looking around.

‘Where’s my sword!’ 

‘Your mother mentioned you weren’t allowed power tools. I took the liberty of adding _ lethal weapons _to the list and I’m afraid I have confiscated it for now. You’ll get it back on your departure.’

‘You _ took _ his sword, Aziraphale? That’s very unlike you.’ Crowley said as he received a withering look.

Mike continued to glance around the room for any form of weapon he could find to defend himself against the unearthly beings in front of him. Over the sofa Mike had been sleeping on was hung a gilded painting of a dead duck.

‘AhhhhhHHHHHAAAAAAAA!’ He yelled and pointed at it with ecstatic grin ‘AHA!’ He shouted again. He swung his pointed finger and aimed it directly at Crowley.

‘It appears he still thinks you’re a vampire, Crowley.’

‘I’ll take it as a compliment, all the kids like vampires these days.’ The demon began to lazily flick through a book on _ Self Sufficiency _.

‘You stole this painting,’ Mike accused, ‘from Houghton Hall in 1990!’

Crowley froze. He slowly closed his book.

‘I beg _ your pardon?’ _Aziraphale appraised the painting as if he had never seen it before. Mike waited to be told off for his bold and unkind accusation. He sat, ready.

The angel stood and turned to the demon in full rage.

‘Crowley!’

‘You really want to talk about this _ now, _angel??’

‘You _ stole _ a _ painting, _Crowley?’ 

‘W-well I mean-’ 

‘_ Why? _ For what demonic purpose could you possibly need a painting of a dead _ duck?’ _

Crowley put out his hands as if carrying a tray of excuses.

‘No purposes! I promise, angel!’ He said ‘It wasn’t really _ stealing, _ more like _ rehousing.’ _

_ ‘Rehousing!?’ _

‘Yeah, I mean, I just liked it! Much more than the fancy idiot who owned it before! He was using it as leverage for some dodgy arms deal or something I dunno so I said “hey well I like ducks” so I took it and here it is you’re welcome.’ He folded his arms and huffed back into the seat.

‘Well’ Aziraphale sat back down too, ‘I _ do _ wish you had told me at _ least _ . You never know - I might have put it on my intsta story and gotten us in _ trouble.’ _

Crowley sat up again.

‘When the fff-’ Crowley glanced at Mike ‘-_ fffudge _ did you set up an _ instagram account??’ _

‘You were a notorious mobster in 1947!’ Mike shouted again, annoyed that he was being ignored and that no one was admitting they were a vampire. Crowley impassively turned his face towards him.

‘Ah you must be talking about my Grandfather. I’ve been told we have an uncanny resemblance.’ He said with a small, well practiced smile.

‘_ Fine.’ _ Said Mike. Snake Hips wasn’t playing ball, so he decided to change tack. ‘You!’ He pointed at Aziraphale ‘ _ You _modelled for Carl Gutherz paintings of angels over a hundred years ago!’

Aziraphale flushed bright red. He broke almost immediately.

‘I admit!’ He attempted to hide his blush with one hand. ‘I posed a little to help a friend.’

‘_ Aziraphale!’ _ Crowley looked scandalised ‘You went to _ America??’ _

‘Well he was in Paris at the time, actually.’

‘You posed for a painting with your_ wings out?’ _

‘Several paintings!’ Mike yelled, not having quite processed what Crowley meant by _ wings out _.

Crowley's eyebrows shot up.

‘What were you, his _ muse?!’ _

‘Oh don’t be _ ridiculous! _ As I said before, I was merely helping out a friend. Really, Crowley, it’s not as if I did anything _ bad _.’

‘Well I wish you had told me!’

‘Why?’

Crowley huffed and shrugged. He sat back and began plotting another art heist.

Mike put his arms out like he was waiting for the other two to catch onto something. They didn’t.

‘But that would make you OVER A HUNDRED YEARS OLD!’ He yelled ‘_ What are you!’ _

‘Vampires.’ Came Crowley’s muffled voice. He was now apparently furiously engrossed in his gardening book, though he kept muttering things about _ Carl bloody Gutherz _ under his breath.

‘You _ owe _me an explanation!’

‘Can we put him to bed now, angel?’ He muttered. Aziraphale nodded in agreement and raised his hand as if to click his fingers.

Mike stood on the sofa. A few pillows (one miraculously mended) fell onto the floor. ‘No!’ He shouted before collecting himself. ‘_ Listen. _ At the fair, and before that even, something happened to me. And I dunno what it was but it was _ horrible,’ _ Mike shuddered and began to pour all his will into not crying, ‘and scary and it had _ something to do with you! _ So you _ owe _ me an explanation _ please _. WHAT ARE YOU!’

Aziraphale lowered his hand and Crowley lowered his book. 

After a while, Crowley took off his glasses, folded them, and hung them on his shirt. 

To Mike’s horror, where a man’s eyes should have been were instead the two yellow slitted pupils of a serpent. They stared sadly at the boy.

‘Sometimes, vicar’s boy, when you make a big mistake, it follows you for the rest of your days. Even when you think it’s getting better, and you think you’ve finally won, your old enemies pull out all the stops. You just happened to be there, I’m afraid. You were there and they used you to get revenge on _ me. _ Well, on both of us.’ The serpent eyed man shrugged sadly. ‘Sorry, mate.’

‘But - _ what - are - you.’ _Mike said.

‘Right. Demon.’ Crowley said, before glancing towards Aziraphale and changing his answer. _ ‘Reformed _demon.’

‘You’re both _ demons?’ _Mike’s voice grew quieter and quieter.

‘Ah! Well actually,’ Aziraphale chimed in, ‘I happen to be an angel, in fact.’ He looked back at Crowley. ‘Or I suppose not in the same sense... anymore.’ He seemed slightly at odds as what to call himself.

‘Renegade angel?’ Crowley suggested. Aziraphale liked it.

‘And what was it that made me do all those things… to those vegetables…’ Mike gripped a pillow as his eyes glazed with the memory of his tirade.

‘Demons, most likely. They wanted to get to us, I’m afraid, and they used you.’ Aziraphale sat by Mike and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Jolly unfair, I know.’

‘What did you do to make them hate you?’ Mike asked Crowley.

Crowley put his glasses back on and cocked an eyebrow.

‘Ran off with an angel.’ He said with the coolest of smirks.

‘And mutinously prevented the apocalypse.’ A red Aziraphale added.

‘Oh yeah, that too.’

Mike hugged the pillow to his chest. 

‘And why,’ he said after a while, ‘did you agree to look after me when I could still be, you know_ ...’ _

‘Ah,’ said Aziraphale, ‘that’s just the thing. We rather think you might _ still _ be involved.’

Mike looked terrified.

_ ‘Still? _’

‘Chill kid, don’t worry! We’ll sort this out, probably!’

‘Yes, we will do our best to protect you in every way we can! But we do need you to cooperate, I’m afraid.’

‘Yeah, starting with this: that night the pub burned down, when you were doing your spying, did you see two strange -’

Mike snapped into action.

‘Y-YES! FROGFACE AND BALDY’ he shouted before scrambling for his bag. He brought out a notepad and furiously flicked through it. ‘They were there, they started the fire, they said something about summoning and the horses, which is the pub I guess, and looking for a… _ hey _ do you want this information or _ not _!?’

At this point Crowley was almost on the floor shaking in mirth.

‘_ Frogface and Baldy!’ _He gasped between fits of laughter.

‘They said that they were looking for a _ tribute.’ _Mike read out over the din.

Crowley stopped laughing.

‘Die Opferung’ The angel said.

‘Mike,’ said Crowley, ‘don’t go out spying anymore, ok.’

‘Why?’

The angel and the demon said nothing

‘They’re after me aren’t they?’ Mike said. ‘It’s going to happen all over again, isn’t it?’

‘No Mike,’ Crowley said, ‘I think it might be much worse this time.’ Mike’s lip began to quiver.

‘But not to worry!’ said the angel hurriedly as he shot a warning look at Crowley. ‘As we said, you will be safe and sound here with us. Oh look at the time I’m afraid it’s far too late for supper, to bed with you young man! Goodness gracious what would your mothers say if they knew you were up so late. I’m sure we would not be allowed to look after you ever again! Now let’s get a move on-’

There were two sharp knocks at the door. Crowley and Aziraphale looked at each other in panic.

‘Stay here.’ Crowley said gravely as he sprang up and moved into the hall.

The angel and the boy sat in tense stillness as they strained to listen.

They heard the click of the latch and the door swing open.

‘’Righ’ Mr Crowley?’

The angel breathed a sigh of relief.

‘It’s just Mr Savage from next door.’ He whispered to Mike.

‘Evening.’ Came the sound of Crowley’s voice.

‘Just heading out to the pub in the next village. Only that my wife’s missing this evening. Not that I’d normally mind o’ course!’ The man chuckled nastily ‘’Cept this time there’s a ransom note so I supposed I should tell someone. ‘Ere y’ar’. Alrigh’ then, tarah!’

There was a sound of feet stomping away on the driveway gravel into the night. The door swung shut.

Crowley appeared in the doorway white as a sheet and parchment in hand.

‘Oh!’ said Aziraphale, realisation dawning. ‘Wrong Opferung!’

‘Wrong Opferung’ the demon agreed.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The White Duck by Jean Baptiste, painted 1753, missing since 1992 https://images.app.goo.gl/1FsjQ84vt4SHDdT68
> 
> Christ with the Angel in the Garden of Gethsemene by Carl Gutherz, painted circa 1890 https://images.app.goo.gl/mi9CpMmKZJjLPaJK9


End file.
